Relating 1 Sculpture

António Nobre How things start? What makes sense to do? It all started long ago and long before each one of us. And does it matter how it started or how it ends? Probably it will end up long after each one of us. Therefore, and to make more practical matters, I am interested in what I do and while it lasts. The before and the after is always someone else's job. For me, it all started on the lap of my father, with repeated stories where the boy had to run world to fulfill destiny. The world was elsewhere, far away, mysterious and much more interesting than my unpaved street where the weeds grew on clay, the poor suburbs of working class neighborhoods without dreams, a city that was, for me, out of all the world. Then I met the books; they had words and more: the novelty of the illustrations that carried me actually away from my street. Perhaps this simple and complex fascination to meet the world, the power of words and images have taken me to the television news in which I spent most of my professional life. More than 20 years after no fancy stories that guaranteed me some awards but destroyed me some dreams. Everything changes with our life experiences but the fundamental remains; I recovered the allure of the illustrations in the lessons at the University of Fine Arts. And the charm grew with the power to create that sits at the tip of a pencil. One day was not sufficient to have only a drawing or painting a sheet of paper. The sculpture has become the natural way forward. I respect my pieces as I respect all living beings. The pieces should be free and follow their way. I imagine, model and, at a certain point, the piece gain life and worlds and times. And I let them, accepting forms that transcend me and I marvel and get emotional toward things I can't and don't want to control. In my life I was fortunate to be touched by a part of the world. When working in my small workshop I make it a part of the distant and mysterious world that has always fascinated me. And I create men of clay, men of dust. Men of dirt. What more can one do?